


Punching Bag

by everywintersbreath



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Boxing, Bartender Wen Jun Hui | Jun, Boxer Xu Ming Hao | The8, Eventual Smut, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Swearing, Violence, seriously a lot of fist fighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-07-10 07:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15944846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywintersbreath/pseuds/everywintersbreath
Summary: Minghao frowns, meeting Junhui’s gaze over the coffee table. His black eye is getting more pronounced now, just another contributing factor to Minghao's second impulsive question of the night.“Want to learn how to fight?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> read tags for possible triggers, they'll be updated as the story continues
> 
> it's funny because this fic is like the polar opposite of the other junhao im writing right now

The only time Minghao feels alive is when he’s in the ring.

It’s a weird sort of high, a guilty rush that’s more exhilarating than any drug as his adrenaline surges, fists repeatedly connecting with another man’s face until his opponent is laying on the floor, unable to get back up. He can taste the blood in his mouth, feel the burning of his knuckles, hear the howling of the crowd as the referee starts to count. Minghao thinks this must have been the way his father felt when he used to beat Minghao into the floorboards. 

“8… 9… 10!” The referee screams, eliciting a roar from the drunken crowd of criminals, many of which have placed bets on Minghao. He raises one fist into the air triumphantly, face impassive as to not garner negative attention from the more daring members of the bar’s customer base. Smiling can be interpreted as overconfidence and overconfidence is dangerous here.

The crowd roars again, surging as Minghao leaps down from the ring, sliding through the sweaty congregation of bodies toward the bar. He tries to ignore the voices that accost him, failing when one man grabs his bare shoulder, spinning him, a wild look of excitement on his face. He’s clearly piss-drunk, breath reeking of alcohol. “You just won me 1000$! Drink’s on me!”

Carefully, Minghao shrugs off his grip, squirming away. “While I appreciate the offer, I don’t intend to get drunk tonight. Use the money on yourself.” The man just stares at him for a moment, breaking into a wider smile. “Yessir!” Minghao cringes. Definitely drunk. 

He manages to get the rest of the way without any interruption, the next fight starting behind him as Minghao’s victim is dragged off the stage, broken body incapable of walking on its own. The crowd seems to forget about him completely, already too enthralled by the new matchup. Minghao himself isn’t too interested. They’re both people he’s beaten before, nothing special. 

He swings himself onto a bar stool, eyes tracing the features of the bartender, who must be new. Minghao’s never seen him before and Minghao knows everyone here. The bartender’s pretty, with delicate features and a slender body. Minghao feels pity for him. He’ll be picked off like a mouse in a field of hawks here. The bartender clears his throat, soft voice starting to speak as he noticeably avoids looking at Minghao’s bare chest. “What can I get for you?”

“How many times tonight has someone answered with ‘your number’?” Minghao asks instead of answering, finding amusement in the way that the bartender’s mouth quirks up. “A few,” he replies wistfully, continuing to clean some nonexistent marks off the glass he’s holding. Minghao observes him for a moment, eyes catlike. “I’ll have a glass of Heineken, please,” he says finally, the bartender seeming relieved at actually being given a task. He’s probably been harassed by the older patrons of the bar all evening, the kind of men who’ll sit there and flirt rather than order a drink. 

He’s quick with his hands, slipping Minghao’s drink over in less than a minute, the alcohol warm as it runs down his throat when Minghao tips it back. “You fight very well,” the bartender says shyly, not looking at him again. He’s cute, Minghao thinks. Too cute for a place like this. “Thanks,” he replies, meeting the young man’s eyes when he looks up. “Appreciate it.”

The bartender chuckles nervously, fiddling with a bottle of liquor. “I wish I could fight like that. I’m not very good at all.”

“It takes practice,” Minghao murmurs, taking another swig. “I was probably one of the scrawniest kids you’ve ever seen when I started.” The bartender hums, pondering. It’s quiet for a few peaceful moments before Minghao speaks again, barely audible over the yelling of the crowd behind them. He’s honestly surprised that no one else has come to the bar and interrupted them yet. “What’s your name?” He asks the bartender.

“Junhui,” the bartender replies, blinking at him innocently. Minghao snorts under his breath, ignoring the way it makes his heart flutter. “That’s your first mistake right there. Don’t give out your real name so easily. The people here aren’t good people, Junhui. Remember that.”

Embarrassed, Junhui bobs his head. “Sorry,” he mumbles, receiving a shrug from Minghao just as an older man sidles up to the bar, loudly demanding for some vodka. Minghao takes that as his cue to leave, slipping away into the shadows before Junhui can even notice he’s gone.

 

-

 

The next time they meet, Minghao finds him crumpled in the alleyway behind the bar, beaten and soaking wet, curled up in the layer of filth that coats the cobbled streets. 

He crouches beside him, a weird sort of guilt welling up in his stomach. Poking at Junhui’s face, he waits, the young man’s eyes fluttering open. “Hey,” Minghao murmurs, his bag of boxing gear heavy on his shoulder. Junhui opens and closes his mouth, looking a mix between hopeless and embarrassed. “Hi,” he says finally, tiny and scared.

“You’re alright now,” Minghao soothes, patting him on the shoulder. “Do you have a home to go back to?”

Hesitantly, Junhui shakes his head, the movement barely distinguishable. Minghao frowns, brow furrowing. He shouldn’t care so much, but there’s something about Junhui that reminds him of himself, back when he had squatted in alleyways, punching the brick walls of buildings and shivering through the winter. Junhui looks so fragile, as if he’s about to break in half. Minghao opens his mouth, forming the words before he fully considers them. “Come back to my apartment.”

Junhui’s red lips form a little ‘o’ of shock, his whole expression pure even with the blackening circle around his left eye. “I-If you’re sure,” he replies, receiving a short nod from Minghao. Minghao reaches down, cupping his back and pulling him upward slowly, feeling Junhui’s body shudder as he stumbles. “Sorry,” Junhui mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be,” Minghao replies, offering him a shoulder to lean on as he starts off in the direction of his home. Junhui winces as he steps, breaths short and fast. Despite how agonized he appears, there’s a certain resignation in his steps. It’s like he’s used to being beaten up, used to taking the blame for other people attacking him. It’s the same mentality Minghao used to have when he was a child. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Minghao continues, voice gentler. Junhui shrugs, their shoulders bumping. “Sometimes just existing is enough.”

Minghao hums darkly, the sound low as they continue to walk, footsteps in the murky street water the only noise. It’s dark, the smell of various street drugs floating up from passerby as they complete the path back to Minghao’s apartment. Junhui coughs quietly, the sweet incense likely disturbing to someone who’s not used to it. Minghao purses his lips, pitying. There’s not much he can do about it. 

When they reach the apartment building, Minghao leads Junhui up to his room, unlocking the door and slipping inside without much of a care. “Sorry that it’s messy,” he says unapologetically. “I’ve been spending a lot of time at the boxing gym lately.” 

“It’s nice,” Junhui says softly, limping toward one of the yellowing walls and using it to support his weight. “Nicer than the streets at least,” Minghao replies in amusement, glancing back at his awkward guest. “You can sit down, you know. Get your weight off that ankle.”

“Thank you,” Junhui whispers hoarsely, collapsing onto Minghao’s couch as if all of the strength he’s been using to hold himself up has suddenly vanished. Minghao hums, walking into his tiny kitchen and examining the contents of the fridge. If he had suspected that he’d be bringing someone over, he might have tried to buy more edible food. There’s no reason to usually since Minghao never has any visitors.

“Would you like some coffee?” He asks after a moment, uncertain. Junhui sniffles a bit, a small smile appearing on his face. “You shouldn’t have caffeine this late, Minghao. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Minghao shrugs, a strange feeling running up and down his spine at the words. He can’t remember the last time anyone’s actually cared about his well-being. “Just offering. I don’t have much food in here.”

“That’s okay,” Junhui replies immediately. “You’ve already been kind enough by letting me come back here. You don’t need to feed me too.”

“Maybe I want to,” Minghao says, feeling silly as soon as he says it. Is he a toddler? Junhui giggles, the sound refreshing, making feel Minghao less stupid. “Do you like eggs?” He asks, receiving a nod from Junhui. “I can pretty much only do scrambled,” Minghao continues, pulling out the one cooking pan he has in his entire apartment. “If I try to make an omelet, it just turns out like scrambled eggs anyway.”

“I can help you if you need,” Junhui says quickly. “I don’t want you to have to do all the work.”

Minghao snorts, whipping the eggs together in a small bowl. “I’m not making someone who’s just been beaten up cook for me. You should be cleaning yourself up instead. My medical stuff is around the corner in a little red cabinet.” 

Junhui gets back up, humming. “Thank you,” he repeats. Minghao rolls his eyes, salting the eggs and pouring them into the oiled pan as he hears Junhui trip around his apartment. He feels a weird sort of obsession to get the eggs right, flipping them repeatedly. It’s been a long time since Minghao has cooked. 

Eventually, he hears Junhui return from the other room, flopping back onto the couch as Minghao brings over the plate of eggs. “Here,” he says awkwardly. “I tried.”

“Thank you,” Junhui says, shoveling them into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in days. “They’re delicious.”

Minghao smiles at that, sitting across from him and watching as he continues to eat. Junhui finishes quickly, looking quite satisfied as he holds the plate between his porcelain hands. “Hey,” Minghao starts, quiet. “Who beat you up, anyway?”

“Just some customers from the bar,” Junhui replies, looking away, his face darkening. “I wouldn’t agree to spend the night with one of them and his friends were quite upset.”

Minghao frowns, meeting Junhui’s gaze over the coffee table. His black eye is getting more pronounced now, just another contributing factor to Minghao's second impulsive question of the night.

“Want to learn how to fight?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for lack of updates this week has been super busy for me TT
> 
> at the same time it's been one of the best of my entire life so im pretty pumped

Minghao watches with eagle eyes as Junhui hits at the punching bag, a rather weak attempt at a jab.

“Again,” he commands, paying particular attention to the lower half of Junhui’s body as he lurches towards the bag. Junhui draws back, searching Minghao’s face for any sign of approval. Minghao doesn’t intend to give him any, no matter how cute he might be. “Try to concentrate on turning your whole body into the punch,” Minghao instructs. “Your feet have to be just as quick as your fists if you want to put strength behind a quick blow.”

Junhui nods resolutely, biting his lip and turning back to the bag. He looks disappointed. Minghao takes a deep breath, gesturing for him to try again. He watches as Junhui punches at the bag again and again, noticeably trying to implement Minghao’s advice. He’s a hard worker, not complaining even when Minghao can see the droplets of sweat rolling down his face, can see the way his eyes twitch around.

“Okay,” Minghao says after what feels like an eternity. “Now try to punch me right in the chest, as hard as you can.”

Junhui looks at him like he’s crazy, eyes widening. Minghao almost wants to laugh. “I get punched for a living Junhui. You won’t hurt me, c’mon.” Junhui steps towards him, hesitantly bringing his body into a ready stance. His fist darts out, lightly bashing Minghao’s midsection. Minghao doesn’t flinch, looking at him steadily. “You can do better,” he taunts, watching Junhui’s nostrils flare out.

Junhui punches again, harder this time, enough force to satisfy Minghao. “Alright,” Minghao says, looking him over. “Not exactly a lethal blow, but I wouldn’t expect it to be. For your first day, not too bad. If you want to get better, it’ll take a lot of work. I’m happy to train you as long as you’re happy to put in the effort.”

Junhui nods eagerly, his pupils blown wide. It’s almost like his whole demeanor changes as soon as Minghao compliments him, pretty lips curling and uncurling, a fluttering smile of uncertainty and euphoria. Minghao swallows, throat suddenly dry. “How would you feel about going for a run?” He asks to try and dispel the weird atmosphere. “It’s important to build up stamina.”

“Sure,” Junhui replies immediately, eager to please. 

 

\- 

 

Junhui clearly has some experience with running.

Minghao follows about a foot behind him, watching the thin material of his tank top flutter around his body, revealing an emaciated frame littered with bruises. Minghao grimaces, forcing himself to stare at the gravel of the road instead. Looking at Junhui like this is reminding him of a lot of things that he’d like to forget. 

“When’s your next fight, Minghao?” Junhui asks, breaths even. 

“Tomorrow night,” Minghao says. “You still working at the bar?” Junhui’s head bobs in front of him, making Minghao’s lips draw even tighter together. “What if those guys come back?”

“Don’t worry,” Junhui says, tone cheerful but underlying anxiety still showing through. “I have a lot of experience in running away from things.” Minghao frowns at that. It’s kind of a weird thing to say, he thinks, and the nonchalant way in which Junhui mentions it makes him even more confused. “Okay,” he starts slowly. “But I’ll be nearby, remember that.”

Junhui hums cheerfully, the note ringing through the afternoon air as they reach Minghao’s apartment building once again. The crowds that hang around the alleyways at night are gone, only a few homeless stragglers and old women trying to peddle useless items remaining. 

Minghao looks over them, seeing one of the old women who’s usually out waving her arms nearby. He gives her a small smile, following Junhui into the apartment building. It’s sad, he thinks. This whole damn city is. 

“Thanks again for letting me stay with you,” Junhui says shyly as they climb the stairs. “And for helping me so much.” 

Minghao grunts in response, scratching at his hair. It’s getting long. He should probably cut it, but every time he tries, it ends up looking choppier and choppier. 

“Do you have any experience with cutting hair?” Minghao asks Junhui out of the blue. Junhui looks back, startled. “Uh, yeah actually. I’ve always cut my own hair and I…,” Junhui stops and then continues after a beat of silence that’s just a little too long to be normal. “I used to cut my little brother’s too.”

“Oh,” Minghao replies, unsure how to properly respond to that. “Well, could you try to cut mine? It’s getting a bit distracting.” Junhui looks back at him, gaze uncertain. “I can try, but I’m not sure how nice it’ll look.”

Minghao shrugs, noticing how perfectly even Junhui’s own hair seems to be. “Can’t be any worse than what I’ve done to it in the past. I honestly don’t care, even if you give me bald spots.”

Junhui giggles, waiting for Minghao to open the door of his apartment. “I’m sure I won’t be that bad,” he says, following him inside. “Do you want me to cut it right now?”

Minghao nods, going to the kitchen and pulling out the only pair of scissors he has, a gnarly old pair that’s slightly rusted, having spent too many years in soggy drawers and molding kitchens. He hands it to Junhui, plopping himself down on a stool right in the center of the kitchen, knowing it’ll be easier to sweep up the fallen hairs from the flat flooring here.

Junhui audibly gulps, coming up close behind him, warm presence clearly felt in the space behind Minghao’s body. “Is there a particular look you want to go for?” Junhui asks, receiving a shrug from Minghao. “Not really. Just a bit shorter, please.”

It’s then that one of Junhui’s hands finds its way into Minghao’s hair, the scissors coming closer as Junhui pulls a small section away from his scalp. It’s nice, Minghao thinks. The only other person who’s ever run their hands through his hair was his mother, back before she left. 

Junhui starts to cut, the sounds of the scissors soft around Minghao’s head. Minghao can’t see what it looks like in here, can only feel the fluttering strands as they come down to land on his clothes and skin. Awkwardly, Junhui starts to speak. “Are you worried about the fight tomorrow?”

Minghao almost shrugs, before realizing that’s probably a bad idea with scissors next to his head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve last fought this guy so I’m not sure how much he’s improved. He doesn’t do fights at the bar often because he’s not as desperate for money as the rest of us.”

“Oh,” Junhui breathes out, the sound barely audible over the sound of the snipping. Junhui’s hands feel so nice in his hair that Minghao thinks he’ll have to ask him to do this again. Wait, what? It’s not like Minghao to get attached to people. He needs to stop becoming fond of Junhui. Junhui will probably leave just like the rest. 

“Well,” Minghao murmurs. “Regardless of the outcome, I’ll try to put on a nice show.”

Junhui hums, taking his gentle hands out of Minghao’s hair. “You can look,” he murmurs shyly, standing still in the kitchen as Minghao wanders into the bathroom to check out the cut. It’s a hundred times better than any he’s ever given himself, neat and somehow still rugged looking, perfect for Minghao’s wannabe bad boy aesthetic. 

“I love it,” he says sincerely, coming out. “Thanks, Jun.”

Minghao tries to ignore the way Junhui’s cheeks go bright red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading <3 
> 
> feedback appreciated 
> 
> ily all


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!!!!!!!!!

Minghao’s sore when he wakes up.

He’d spent a few more hours at the gym after Junhui had gone to sleep, more work he’s not even sure that needed. All it has done is make him uncomfortable.

Normally, Minghao would hate getting up in his apartment, the cold breeze rattling through the shutters to tickle his bare skin. 

There’s something different today.

There’s a smell in the air, enticing and fragrant. It’s food, Minghao realizes after a moment. Real food, good food, likely being cooked by Junhui. 

He’s up in mere moments, shrugging a hoodie from the floor over his shoulders and hauling himself into the other room. Junhui turns to look at him, smile nervous. “Good morning. I used some of my bar money to buy food. I hope you like it.”

Minghao snorts, depositing himself onto a stool. “Can’t possibly be worse than most of the stuff I’ve been eating these last few months.” Junhui frowns at that, handing him one of Minghao’s dingy plates (which he must have cleaned since Minghao definitely doesn’t remember it being that bright). “You should try to take better care of yourself. You’re an athlete. N-Not to overstep or anything.”

“You’re fine,” Minghao says, shrugging him off as he digs into the food. “Don’t need to worry about me though. I could survive on dirt alone.”

Junhui giggles, perching himself across from Minghao and picking at his own food. Minghao finds himself tracing Junhui’s digits with his eyes, noticing the bruises on Junhui’s knuckles. He swallows a bite of meat, raising an eyebrow. “Did you go out punching walls this morning?”

Junhui blinks owlishly, looking in surprise from Minghao to his hands. He flushes. “Something like that,” Junhui mumbles, voice small. Minghao sighs, stretching out his arms. “Be careful. Overexerting yourself or hurting yourself isn’t going to make you any better.”

“I know,” Junhui replies, staring at the tabletop. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Minghao says fondly. “Just… yeah. I don’t know. Don’t be dumb.” The corners of Junhui’s mouth twitch up, a smile almost reappearing. “Wow, thanks for the advice.”

It’s clearly at least somewhat sarcastic, but Minghao doesn’t care. He gathers his plate, standing. “I’m going to hit the gym again. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait a second,” Junhui protests. “You can’t lecture me on taking care of myself and then proceed to work out for like fifty hours. If you’re worried about your big match, any last minute training you do today isn’t gonna do much more than make you more nervous. Just sit around and have fun or something!”

Minghao regards him momentarily, head tilted. “What sort of fun?”

 

-

 

Junhui brings Minghao to the other half of the city.

The difference in wealth of the citizens on this side is evident immediately, from their clothes to their carefree attire. Everything’s so much nicer, the flowerpots along the road trimmed and the buildings up to code. Minghao almost feels bitter. If they have this much extra money to throw around, why can’t they help the other side of town?

Junhui’s hand squirms within his own, soft fingers latching onto Minghao’s as he continues to tug him forwards down the paved street. Some of the passersby are staring at them, likely making judgments on the sorry state of their clothing or the dirtiness of their skin. Minghao holds his head high, wondering where Junhui could possibly be taking him that’s in any way fun.

“It’s just up ahead,” Junhui murmurs, pointing with his free hand. Minghao looks, hurrying his steps to match Junhui’s more excited ones as they get closer, the bright trees coming into view. Minghao stops at the barrier, his eyes lighting up. “Wow,” he breathes softly, gazing up at the delicate petals that align the branches.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Junhui asks, smiling softly and squeezing Minghao’s hand. “The farther in you go, the better it gets.”

Minghao takes that as a suggestion, starting to walk onto the path through the little park with Junhui at his side. “Is this new?” He asks, ogling the luminescent flowers that line the trail. Junhui shakes his head, staring around. “It’s been here for a few years. I used to come here when I was feeling particularly lost or hopeless, so it’s kind of a special place for me. Surprisingly, not that many people are ever here, so it’s quiet.”

“Their loss,” Minghao remarks, secretly pleased that Junhui would bring him to a place that held so much importance in his memories. They walk in silence for a minute or so, reaching a little bench in front of a still pond on which several lilies float. Minghao sits down, regarding the flowers fondly. Beside him, Junhui takes a hesitant breath.

“I guess… I didn’t really think before bringing you here. Sorry if it’s boring. I just wanted to get your mind off of the fight, and this is where I always used to go when I needed to get my mind off of things.”

“It’s nice, Jun,” Minghao replies, placing one hand on the cold metal of the bench. “Thank you for sharing this space with me.”

He glances over at his companion, whose hand is still warm in his own, soft and maybe a little sweaty. Junhui’s cheeks have gone a tinge pink, matching the blossoms above. Minghao’s struck by just how delicate of a face he has, long eyelashes fluttering as he avoids Minghao’s gaze, smooth lips pursing in a way which definitely should not make Minghao feel so interested. He only met Junhui a few days ago. What’s wrong with him?

Minghao shakes out his bangs, looking away. It’s better not to think too much about it, he decides. He'll deal with this later, after the fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minghao faces gay crisis episode 3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:::::: minghao has a flashback into this chapter that includes mentions of child abuse and character death

Minghao spits a surprisingly solid chunk of blood out onto the floor of the ring, gritting his teeth after that particularly nasty punch.

He’s strangely aware of Junhui’s eyes on him from across the room, gentle face far tenser than it ever should be. Minghao risks a glance in his direction, meeting his bright gaze. Junhui smiles at him, a genuinely faithful expression, one that tells Minghao at least one person's cheering for him. 

Minghao laughs, clutching at the glove on his other hand and refocusing his gaze on the man across the ring. He’ll give Junhui a show. 

“Why are you laughing, old man?” his opponent hisses under his breath. “Fuckin’ idiot.”

Minghao does not dignify that with a response, answering instead with his fists. It’s like there’s a new energy in his movements, perhaps coming from his budding desire to show off. His opponent repeatedly blocks, seeming a bit flustered.

He throws out a quick uppercut, which barely misses Minghao’s face, leaving him open for a jab from Minghao. Minghao, since there are really no actual rules in this kind of illegal boxing, punches him right in the nose, hard enough to twist it sideways.

The man howls, stumbling back and coming at him with renewed vigor, droplets of blood flying from his newly broken appendage. The crowd is going berserk as they wrestle each other, the other man gripping at Minghao’s arms with sharp nails, digging into his skin. Minghao kicks him off, wincing from the imprints left behind.

The other man is walking diagonally now, which Minghao notes with satisfaction. A kick to the floating rib will do that, he’s figured out. He grins, stumbling forward to continue his assault as the other man grabs at his hair, all conventions of boxing completely abandoned. It’s a childish move, one he clearly executes impulsively seeing how it leaves half of his body exposed.

Minghao’s hands are quick and powerful, hammering into the side of his face as he tries to wrench his sweaty hair out of the man’s grip. The man’s biting his hand, hard enough to draw blood, kicking at the back of Minghao’s knees and trying to knock him over. Minghao’s balance doesn’t waver, one final hit to the jaw enough to destroy his opponent’s last holds on consciousness.

The man’s tumbling over, body limp on the ground. The sight almost makes Minghao feel guilty. The pain in his own body is fading to numbness as the referee’s screams become one with the white noise of the crowd. All he can see is the crumpled body in front of him, a body which starts to fade into another, a body which starts to look too familiar.

It’s his mother, much larger than him and yet so small, so tiny when she’s crumpled like this. She’s not moving, not saying anything, not even breathing. There’s none of the usual apologies that she screams, none of the begging or crying, just the harsh exhales of his father behind him. Minghao’s being picked up by the collar of his shirt, being dangled over the ground. He’s crying, sobbing, and his father’s fist is colliding with his face, the smell of whiskey heavy in the air.

There are hands on his shirt then, pulling him away from his father, pulling him through a wall of cold air, warm arms around him that shield him from the echoing words that ring around him. He can’t really make anything out, none of the insults or the annoying murmuring, not until he’s sitting on the barstool, Junhui’s hands in his armpits to keep him from sliding over. 

Minghao comes back to reality, and then he’s breathing again. One of Junhui’s hands tentatively reaches up to rub his cheek, the two of them forgotten by the spectators. He grabs a glass of water and offers it to Minghao, who gratefully accepts. The pain’s hitting him now, blood dripping down from his face and mingling with his sweat to create an odor which cannot in any way be pleasant for Junhui to be so close to the source of. 

Junhui doesn’t seem to mind, however, just watching Minghao with those enormous eyes of his. Minghao starts to laugh again, a sad chuckle that catches in his throat and causes him to start choking. Junhui pats at his back, seeming to grow more concerned. “What happened to you, Minghao?” He asks softly, lips blurring in and out of focus.

“Just started thinking,” Minghao replies drowsily, letting his laughter trickle off and his face sink into a morose expression. “Got too caught up in a memory.”

“Oh,” Junhui says, so quiet that it might as well have not been uttered. Minghao takes some pleasure in watching the way his thin shoulders bob up and down with each breath. “I was worried. You just stopped moving and-”

“You’re really beautiful.”

Junhui’s whole face goes cherry red and he looks away, laughing nervously. “Um, I think he might have hit your head a little too hard. Let me check with my boss if I can take you back home.”

He’s gone then, fading away into the buzzing lights of the club. Back home, he had said. Home. Minghao’s home. Minghao and Junhui’s home. Their home. Maybe he’s reading too much into it, but there’s a fluttering in Minghao’s chest at the thought of someone getting close to him. Still, why had Junhui so easily rejected Minghao’s compliment as just him being delirious? They’ll need to work on that.

“Ok, I, um-,” Junhui starts, reappearing in front of him. “Let’s try to get you home, okay?”

“I can walk,” Minghao says, stumbling upright and clinging onto Junhui’s arm. “Well, kind of,” he amends, relying on Junhui to support some of his weight as they push their way out of the club. 

Junhui’s quiet. He keeps looking over at Minghao as they walk, eyes shifting away when Minghao returns the expression. 

“Hey,” Minghao starts sluggishly. “You’re not going to get in trouble for this, right?”

“Don’t think so,” Junhui replies, guiding him around a pothole. “If I do, I’ll deal with it. Don’t worry.”

“Wow, so cool,” Minghao says, mostly teasing. “What a man.”

Junhui once again goes bright red, leading Minghao to giggle. It sure is fun teasing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter brought to u by busted and blue by gorillaz


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: discussion of childhood traumas

Junhui’s hands tremble slightly as they press the cold compress up against Minghao’s cheek.

The shyness is cute, Minghao thinks, and if he pretends to be a little more tired just so Junhui will act more attentive, who could blame him?

“It’s cold,” Minghao grumbles childishly, unsure where this new whiny part of him is coming from. Junhui pats at his knee, the gesture jerky and awkward, his dark eyes shifting. 

“I‘m sorry,” he whispers. “It’ll help the swelling. It’s unpleasant, but you have to go through it.”

“Mm,” Minghao hums, staring at him. Junhui looks up and meets his gaze, smiling. “You look tired. How about we get you settled down in bed, victory boy?” Minghao shrugs, letting Junhui gently tug him up by his arm while still holding the compress to his face. Minghao “stumbles”, ending up a mere inch or so away from Junhui’s face, who coughs rapidly and steps back, cheeks flushing. 

He doesn’t say anything about the incident, hand sweaty and warm in Minghao’s own as he leads him towards Minghao’s bedroom. Junhui’s ever so careful with him, helping Minghao swing his exhausted legs up onto the mattress. “Let me go grab some more pillows so we can make you comfortable.” 

“No,” Minghao protests, gripping his wrist as he remembers the nightmarish vision that had appeared before his eyes during the match earlier. “Please don’t. Just stay here.”

Junhui hesitates, his big pupils vibrating. “I’ll just be a moment, ‘Hao. I’ll be back, okay? Don’t worry.”

Very reluctantly, Minghao lets his fingers slip from Junhui’s wrist, watching as the man hurries from the room, his bartending shirt fluttering about his body. Hao. No one’s ever given him a nice nickname before. Of course, there were the kids in school that called him an imbecile when he would come in with a fierce headache from his father’s fists and be unable to concentrate. Does that count as a nickname? Minghao isn’t sure, but he thinks it’s definitely in a different class from the sweet syllable that had slipped from Junhui’s lips. 

There’s something about having someone feel close enough to him to give him a nickname that makes Minghao’s heart swell up a little. Wait, what is he doing? How long has he even known Junhui? He’s being ridiculous, and yet he can’t stop his heart from hammering anyway. Is he this desperate for attention? For affection?

Junhui pops his head back in through the doorway, bringing the flattened pillows from the guest bedroom under his arms along with a glass of water. Minghao’s doubts float away at the sight of his toothy smile. There’s something about Junhui’s smile that’s very interesting, Minghao thinks. It’s almost like a combination of two expressions, half joyous, half nervous. Maybe it’s just the way his lips curl.

“Lean forward,” Junhui instructs, propping Minghao up on the pillows and tucking the compress between one and his face. “There you go. See? Much better.”

“Mm,” Minghao replies, blinking. Junhui’s standing there awkwardly, having placed down all of his items. He clearly doesn’t know what to do, how to act, any of it. “Lay down,” Minghao mumbles. Junhui looks a bit surprised. “What?”

“Lay down with me. Please.”

“O-Okay,” Junhui replies, fumbling his way onto the narrow bed beside Minghao. It’s like he’s trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, take up as little space as he can despite already being thin as a fencepost. There’s a brief period of silence, where Junhui’s breathing fills up the space not occupied by his own. Junhui’s unnaturally still like he’s scared to move. Minghao feels sympathy. They both have their traumas. 

“Minghao?” Junhui asks after a moment. 

“Yeah?”

“I know you said that you were okay, but what really happened back there? I want to make sure you’re fine.”

Minghao doesn’t reply immediately, and Junhui panics. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Minghao cuts him off. “It’s fine. I was just thinking about how to answer. I had a flashback of sorts. Saw the guy on the floor as my mom and I just froze up.”

“O-Oh,” it’s soft, hesitant. “Is your mom…?”

“Yeah,” Minghao replies. “Was my dad who did it. Piece of fucking shit.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Junhui speaks, squirming a little closer to Minghao. “I’m sorry.” 

Minghao laughs mirthlessly. “Don’t be. I learned how to take a punch from him. At least he was useful for something.”

“My mom…” Junhui starts, trailing off and then trying again. “She always hated me. Said that I was the reason my dad left her for another woman. Said I was the reason she was so poor after he left. I hated that house so much, but then she gave birth to my brother. His father was a different one than mine, a much crueler one, but in a different way. Both of them liked to hit me, but I didn’t mind as much anymore because I had my brother. He was so nice. I always felt like I was protecting him, like I was at least useful for something. The guys my mom dated came and went, but they were all equally deranged.”

He pauses. “When I turned eighteen, I left, and my mom told me she never wanted to see me again. I promised my brother that I’d earn money and take him out of there, but I’m struggling to even keep myself alive at this point. I tried to ask my real dad for money since he’s pretty rich, but he told me he wouldn’t give me any since my brother isn’t his child. I just feel so guilty every damn day. It’s my fault that my brother is probably getting hurt back at home. If I was still there-”

“Let’s bring him here,” Minghao says.

Junhui freezes. “W-What?”

“Bring him here. He can sleep in the guest room. I mean, this isn’t exactly a great place for kids either, but it’s gotta be better than your house. I make enough money through my matches to be able to afford food for the three of us.”

“Minghao,” Junhui chokes. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Minghao grunts. Junhui bursts into tears, which Minghao honestly can’t tell the emotional color of. Happy? Sad? Who knows. “Don’t cry,” he mumbles, patting awkwardly at Junhui’s head with one of his bruised arms. “I was trying to be nice.”

“So nice,” Junhui wails. “I can’t believe you’re real. Thank you, thank you!”

Well, that’s a new compliment, Minghao thinks. He’s never been called nice before. “Hey, don’t worry about it, man. You’ve helped me out too.”

“Thank you,” Junhui blubbers again, Minghao’s fingers warm in his hair. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> justice 4 fengjun


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK FOR anyone following this fic or my other chaptered junhaos im so so sorry for the lack of updates idk if ill get in another update in this weekend bc im busy af so ahhhhhh sorry :(
> 
> here's a domestic fuzzy chap with JUNHUI PERSPECTIVE WOOO 
> 
> no fengjun yet

Junhui, perhaps understandably, is scared.

There won’t be any real legal repercussions for him “abducting” his brother, not in this world where prostitutes and drug lords walk the streets at noon. Maybe on the other side of town, where they can afford to maintain a police force, but not here. Not here, where every other house reeks of death and rats are more prevalent on the streets than cobblestones. 

Still, he can’t help but worry. The image of his mother surfaces in his mind, of her wild eyes and shaking hands, of the shadowy figure of whatever new man she has at home now standing beside her, a bottle ready in his hand. Junhui knows this scenario, knows what will happen next. He screams when the bottle hits the back his neck, jolting upwards and smashing his forehead into Minghao’s chin.

Minghao winces, rubbing at his jaw with one hand, his sleeveless sleep-shirt showing off way more of his arms than Junhui is comfortable looking at. “Was just about to wake you up. Should have gotten here a moment earlier.”

“Are you okay??!” Junhui blubbers, reaching for Minghao’s chin and then drawing his fingers back hesitantly moments before actually touching it. Minghao just laughs, reaching up to intertwine their fingers and drop both pairs of hands onto his firm thighs. “You seem to keep forgetting my occupation.”

“Oh,” Junhui mouths, embarrassed. “I mean, it must have still hurt though.”

Minghao shrugs, rolling his shoulders and shifting backward on the mattress. Junhui suddenly becomes aware of how close they had been, hoping that Minghao doesn’t notice the sudden blush on his cheeks. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ve healed up to the point where nothing really aches anymore. You didn’t hit a sore spot or anything like that.”

“Good,” Junhui murmurs, smiling slightly, feeling a fluttering squeeze of delight on his heart when Minghao returns the expression, his dark eyes warm when they meet Junhui’s. Minghao looks away first after several seconds, pretending to find the sheets very interesting. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Anything’s fine,” Junhui hums, gathering the sheets and pushing them from his body to walk over to the dresser he’s claimed as his own. He can feel Minghao’s eyes on his back, smoldering, but doesn’t say anything about it. Minghao doesn't either, clearing his throat. “Well, I’ll just make eggs then, I guess.”

Junhui giggles, looking at him over his shoulder. “Eggs, huh? Just like the first time we met. How cute.”

Minghao’s face goes through about six different expressions in an instant at Junhui’s use of the word cute, settling finally on unconvincingly stoic. “Not cute,” he protests weakly. “Eggs are full of protein. An athlete’s breakfast. They help you build muscle.”

Junhui swallows, pulling a shirt over himself. “I wasn’t calling the eggs cute.”

“Oh,” Minghao says, backing out of the room extremely rapidly. Junhui watches him go, wondering if he’d been a little too much. He bites his lip, staring at the floor. Shit. He hopes Minghao doesn’t think he’s weird now. But Minghao had called him pretty before, right? Cute isn’t that much different, surely. Did it insult Minghao’s masculinity somehow? 

He pulls on sweatpants, awkwardly shuffling into the main compartment of the apartment, wondering if Minghao’s going to say something about it. He doesn’t, seeming to ignore the event entirely as he turns around, waving at Junhui with the spatula. “Come here,” Minghao says.

Junhui obliges, walking over, confused when Minghao beckons him closer and closer. He’s standing about a foot away from the other man when Minghao decides it’s enough. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts. Junhui is tempted to make one of the many snarky remarks from his arsenal that could follow that statement but resists when he sees how serious Minghao appears.

“Can I kiss you? You can say no. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but I think I’m kind of attracted to you. I don’t want to make things weird th-”

Junhui leans forwards to touch their lips together briefly, feeling a shiver of elation run up his spine. Minghao blinks rapidly, and then grins, his precious eggs forgotten. “I like you too,” Junhui says shyly, scratching at his arm. “Cool,” MInghao says. “I mean- cool, yeah, I’m glad. Do you wanna like,” he gestures vaguely.

“Try something out?” Junhui suggests, receiving a wary nod. “Yeah, sure, that. I mean, like, maybe we could be boyfriends or something? Only if you want, though.”

“Of course I want to,” Junhui says. “But you should flip the eggs.”

Minghao panics, turning around to hurriedly do as instructed, seeming relieved at the fact that the eggs didn’t really brown. There’s a moment of silence, and then Minghao speaks. “I’m glad we had this conversation.”

“Yeah,” Junhui stumbles out. “Me too. We’re still cool with each other, right? Nothing’s changed?”

“Of course,” Minghao says, scraping the first serving of eggs onto a plate. “We can be like Fengjun’s parents.”

Junhui feels his gut twist at the mention of his brother, partially out of warmth, partially out of fear. “Yeah,” he says, a moment late. “That sounds nice.”

Minghao doesn’t comment on the strangeness of Junhui’s vocalization, just shoving the plate into his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all so so much for putting up with me


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for slow updates i will try harder ,,,,,,,,,,,

It’s raining when they get to Junhui’s mother’s house. 

Junhui’s hand is clammy in Minghao’s, maybe from the rain, maybe from nerves. They’re both soaked, Junhui’s bangs slicked down against his forehead to make him appear even more vulnerable than usual. He looks small against the dark street, blinking away the droplets that hit his face.

Minghao swallows, gently slipping his fingers out from Junhui’s. “I’m right behind you,” he says softly, watching Junhui’s chest rise and fall. Junhui nods, his adam’s apple bobbing. They’ve agreed, after much discussion, that Junhui should try to talk to his mother first. Personally, Minghao still thinks it’s a bad idea, but Junhui was adamant, and Minghao supposes it can’t go that wrong if he’s right there anyway. 

With eagle eyes, Minghao traces Junhui’s progress towards the door of the shabby house, the other boy’s shirt sticking to his shoulder blades. He’s extremely nervous, and Minghao can tell. This place, after all, contains Junhui’s very worst memories. Minghao can’t even imagine going back to his own childhood home. He avoids even nearing that region of town. 

Junhui’s hands are hesitant, reaching up to knock twice against the door. There’s a moment where Minghao feels relief, hoping that the woman might not be home, until the door swings open violently.

Junhui’s mother must have beautiful once, Minghao thinks, observing her emaciated features with something akin to fascination. The eyes are there, almond-shaped, framed by thick lashes and reflecting the pale dots of streetlight when she stares at her exiled son.

“Junhui,” she says, voice low. Minghao can still hear it, crossing his arms tighter over his chest in an attempt to make himself feel tougher. “Mom,” Junhui replies, looking almost hopeful. Minghao really should have expected the blow that comes, her hand swinging out at Junhui’s head, lips opening to hurl obscenities.

Minghao dashes forward, nudging Junhui back and catching her wrist when she goes for another blow. She narrows her eyes, arm faltering and shrill voice tapering off to nothing. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Mom,” Junhui says softly, a faint red mark starting to appear on his cheek. Minghao doesn’t answer, very slowly letting go of her wrist when it becomes apparent she won’t try anything again. He still makes sure that he’s positioned in front of Junhui, glaring her down. “Mom, where’s Fengjun?”

“Fengjun,” she breathes contemplatively. “Fengjun? So you want to take him away from me too?” Her tone is rising in volume again, getting angrier. Minghao can smell the cloud of alcohol breath from where he stands, and he tenses. 

“You can’t take care of him anyway,” Junhui replies, voice unnaturally calm. “Your latest boyfriend left you, right? Fengjun’s either going to leave you by dying of starvation, running away like me, or going with me to a place where he’ll be safe. I doubt an argument about the conditions your child will be living in will sway a monster like you, but think about it this way. Once Fengjun’s gone, you’ve got more money for alcohol. Those nasty men from the bars will like you better, they won’t have to pay for someone else’s kid. They’ll stay with you longer and they won’t feel tied down.”

His mother’s eyes tremble, and then she's teetering as if she's about to fall. Minghao lurches forward, catching her before she hits the ground, noticing that she's indeed quite inebriated. He lowers her to the floorboards roughly, sensing that she's already out cold. 

Junhui laughs mirthlessly. "Typical."

He wanders past Minghao, past the bottles on the floor and the broken glass shards that litter the entry. "Fengjun?" Junhui calls. "Fengjun, are you there?"

Minghao scrambles up, trailing after him awkwardly, noticing the boy standing at the bottom of the staircase, pale face dotted with marks, eyes wide and staring right at Junhui. Junhui darts forward, enveloping the boy in his arms and mumbling soft apologies into his ear. Minghao just watches, shifting his weight between his feet until Junhui straightens up, hand locked with his younger brother’s.

“You came back,” Fengjun whispers. 

Junhui nods, eyes dancing. “Of course. We’re going to bring you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to everyone who sticks with my dumb ass, thank u "^"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another tiny filler chapter because i feel GUILT

It’s a bit awkward, Minghao thinks. 

He’s not the best with kids, even if Fengjun is technically more of a teenager than a child. It’s been a long time since Minghao has interacted with someone more than a few years younger than him.

Junhui’s not awake yet, as Minghao had been very careful not to jostle him when climbing out of bed in the morning. The other had stayed up quite late talking with his brother, a conversation Minghao didn’t feel entirely comfortable intruding upon. Fengjun, despite having gotten a minimal amount of sleep, still sits across from Minghao, staring at him with big eyes and picking at the pancakes that Minghao had made him.

He’s probably used to not sleeping much, Minghao thinks, resting his chin on a hand. The boy seems somewhat wary of Minghao, barely speaking to him even when Minghao had asked him what he liked to eat. It’s a familiar sort of reaction, one that Minghao can’t fault him for.

Minghao looks back down at his own remaining scraps of pancake, poking at one absently, when Fengjun speaks. “How did you meet my brother?”

“We work at the same place,” Minghao replies, a little surprised that Junhui hadn’t mentioned that. Or maybe he had, and Fengjun just wanted to see if Minghao would say the same thing. Fengjun shifts. “What do you do?”

Minghao figures there’s nothing to gain from hiding it. “I’m an underground boxer.”

Fengjun’s head snaps up, his mouth forming a little o. “Really? That’s so cool. Is my brother…?”

“No,” Minghao replies with a soft laugh. “Or, not yet at least. I’m teaching him the very basics, though. Maybe someday.” Fengjun nods, sagging just a little bit in his seat, still looking quite excited. Minghao’s just glad he seems more comfortable now. “Could you teach me too?”

Before he can reply, Junhui’s stepping out of their bedroom, t-shirt hanging off his body, interrupting the conversation. His brow is furrowed slightly. “Don’t feel like you have to say yes, Minghao. You’ve done so much for us already.”

“It’s no problem,” Minghao replies. “Honestly, I’d be happy to. It’s nice to, uh, interact with people again, I guess?”

Junhui smiles, his teeth poking out from behind those pretty lips. “Well, if you’re sure. Did you two have a nice breakfast?”

“Yeah,” Fengjun replies. “Minghao is cool. And he makes good pancakes. I like him.”

“Thanks?” Minghao replies, ignoring Junhui’s laughter. “I was actually going to go out to the store, if you guys wanna come with.”

“Oh?” Junhui asks, leaning up against the back of one of the stools. “What are you buying?”

“Protein-heavy foods and maybe some clothes for Fengjun, if he wants.” Minghao trails off, looking across the table. Fengjun nods energetically, jumping up. “That’d be awesome. I’ll go put on my shoes!”

He dashes off, and Minghao can’t help but feel surprised at his sudden complete change in personality. He shares a glance with Junhui, who keeps a faint, fond smile upon his lips. Minghao stands, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Junhui’s forehead. “Eat something,” he commands gently, watching Junhui’s cheeks pull up. “I’ll eat on the way there,” Junhui replies airily.

Minghao sighs, and Junhui grins wider, leaning in to press a light kiss onto his cheek. “It’s cute when you nag.”

“Are you guys coming?” Fengjun calls, breaking them apart. 

“Yeah,” Minghao grumbles, trying to keep the redness off his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . .

**Author's Note:**

> hi i hope this is interesting hahsbdhbhsbdjbsjhdbshj
> 
> thank u for reading <3
> 
> feedback appreciated


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